Cut and Paste

If you notice you'd see how everyone has their own interpretations about everything. Lets take three words "cut and paste". For many it could mean "destroy and repair" or it could be a slang kids use for cheating or something as simple as "ctrl+x & ctrl+v". Similarly few interpret "cut and paste" as "collage". I'm one of those few.

For me cutting and pasting is an art style called collage. Well i wanted to know what wiki thought collage was and it says " a work of formal art, primarily in the visual arts made from an assemblage of different forms, thus creating a new whole." which made sense. It basically means putting together different elements like colors, textures, patterns, images and objects; to get the desired final output. Collage is similar to painting but gives a different feel to the art style.

Here are two of my collage works.
Medium: Collage on paper

a simple composition of flowers.

Surfer dude !!!!

hope you liked em' ...

- Salman

Empty cup

Why do we always remember our first kiss ? No matter how bad our memory is or no matter how hard we try to forget it, we don't. How you remember how it was when you fell off your bike for the first time. Your first fight. The "first time" itself is a phenomena. A discovery of something new. A one way learning experience which feels so amazing because for once you have a feeling of an "empty cup".

Your "first time" could be rivers of honey flowing through a field of lollipops where it rains candies but for someone else it is just like that movie about cowboys and aliens, ... what was the title of the movie again ? ... Well my point is usually the firsts are crude and raw but only one person who can understand your first is you. So at any point if the poem feels childish know that it was written by a child.

I wrote this poem when i was 9 years old. I have a hazy memory of how i came to write it but i think we were given the first two lines and asked to finish the poem. I wrote it in my school which had a very beautiful campus. with open skies, vast open grounds to run around, trees and birds great teachers and amazing friends. So  here i am sharing my first poem and feeling like an "empty cup" all over again.

The birds and The winds

The branches swaying to and fro
And the birds seemed to come and go
The wind was blowing
And the birds were flying
The higher the birds flew
The faster the wind blew
Finally the birds needed rest
So they came back to their nest
The branches stopped swaying
As the birds stopped chirping
As the night came
It was the end of  the flying game.

- Salman

Traces of reality

The day is so bright
Yet i long for the night
When i'm with you it feels right
Yet i want you out of my sight

For a moment i go blind
Turning my face away from your kind
In this emptiness i find
you standing right behind

These blurring lines
These running times
These tiny lies
These heartless crimes

Even though it is new
I know where it goes
Now we are friends
Soon we'll be foes

It feels so nice
being a part of society
Yet i find myself trying so hard
to erase all traces of reality

- Salman

Would it be racist if i wanted to be black ?

Everyone has different phases in their lives. Different and in-imaginable experiences. It could be interaction with people, travel, work, learning, music, movies, blogs, internet, or even those days when you thought you were superman and ran around with a cape tied around your neck.

We've all done embarrassing and stupid things. So this is about a small phase i went through.

I am an Indian and have a very dark skin tone. I knew about the western culture quite well since i watched television a lot.. I saw and heard about America and the African - American people. I looked at them. Then i looked at myself. I noticed a weird similarity between the two. and i thought being dark colored was all one needed to be "African-American" or "black". So i started to think that i was black. Well if you ask me now it is different but at that point i actually believed i was. An Indian trying to speak like Tupac, wearing low waist jeans and long t-shirts, memorizing eminem's lyrics, well you get the picture. During that phase i used to write raps. I used to go onlne and "chat" battle with people. One day a guy from one of the chat rooms asked me where i was from. I told him that i was from India. He immediately started calling me a poser !!! I didn't understand. Instead of defending my self-created, illogical image. I asked him why he thought i was a poser. He then explained to me that i cannot be black or African-American if I'm an Indian. Well one would think that would be the end of my phase but it continued for a few more years.

It was a good experience. I had written a few good raps at that time and here is one of my favourites.

it is the feeling in your eyes
butterflies ... in the stomach
the pain in the brain
makes you insane
the sweat in your hand
makes you understand
that your not the man
you try to do what you can
but this is the end
you have no friend
you're all alone lil' boy
so go home lil' boy
you aint' got what it takes
to race to stay in pace
it is a bloody chase
it is the feeling in your feet
it is what makes your heart beat
it is the burning heat
that takes you outta your seat
you feel you're eating your brother's meat
and he's still alive
and you have to survive
no mercy will be done
the final phase of life has already begun
but once you look back you regret
you think of all the people you've met
you ask god one question
you ask what he has given
but never tell what you've done
if you've understood what i've said
you're life has once again begun
it's called hope...

peace out yall' ...

- Salman

lonely night

dark sky, lit by the moon
covered with clouds.
no sound, no wind.
yet it feels so cold

the heart beats hard,
pain rushing through the veins.
as i take every breath
my life unfolds

a dry throat, a heavy hand
eyes wrapped in a bubble of water
listening, hearing, taking.
but now it is time i told

don't preach me your religion !
for when i'm questioned by god
i'll show him the finger
and ask him to burn my soul

it is so sad that you don't listen
so sad that you don't understand
so sad that it makes me smile
so sad like an unfilling hole

when i close my eyes i know
this life is all i have
so here i stand on this lonely night
and smoke till it rains coal

- Salman